George Best has died. George Best, the man who dazzled a generation with his footballing brilliance; the man who said about the loss of his fortune that he spent most of it on wine, women and fast cars, but he just wasted the rest; the man who once when asked by a journalist to what he could attribute his fall from grace, looked around the hotel lobby where they were seated, at the two blondes on his arm, and at the limousine waiting for him in the forecourt and replied, "What fall?"
Farewell, George. As Tom Waits once said, it's better to be a good liver than to have one.
[UPDATE: I notice The Times has a different version of the 'fall from grace' story. I'm sticking to the one I heard. Legend and myth-making seemed to follow Best around, just as beauty queens did.]
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